


Heated Messages

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Clubbing, Drunk Driving, M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey can either be amusing or a prick when he's drunk. When Gerard's drunk, he likes to fight fire with fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heated Messages

Gerard understands Mikey going to the bar so often. Clubs have the five things Mikey loves; alcohol, drugs, music, dancing, and potential for sex. Mikey likes when the world runs hot. His knobby knees and long fingers are always cold, even in the summer, and he wants everything to make up for it. It doesn’t matter if it’s inhaling smoke or drinking brightly coloured drinks, intoxicants make Mikey flush. Dancing makes him sweat, the crush of bodies and the flailing arms. And a good lyric, a good guitar solo, a good chase, they’re all enough to make his brain tingle. A bar has all the things that warm him up, so of course he won’t leave until just before closing.

Gerard on the other hand can only offer three. Even then what he’s got isn’t exactly top rate.

He’s over twenty one, all it takes to get liquor is driving to the closest store. But Mikey likes the fancy flavoured shit, drinks with names like Voodoo Love and Blue Heaven. Gerard is completely incapable of making a proper mixed drink. He was only asked to be bartender at a single SVA party before they learned the error of their ways. An ‘nonthreatening’ man behind the makeshift bar was unimportant compared to someone that could actually make a Long Island Ice Tea without it tasting funny. The last time he tried making a Caesar he didn’t even know what he did wrong, but it was disgustingly thick, like drinking ketchup. He would no more try to make Mikey drink something he created than he would shoot a dog.

Unlike Mikey, who actually owns both a tape deck and a record player, with entire packing crates of vinyl and cassettes to go with, Gerard’s music is whatever he downloads. His might be more compact, but it’s generally popular music of the same few genres. Mikey has a library tens of thousands higher than he does, an entire external drive. Inevitably anything he downloads Mikey’s already heard, and he doesn’t have a single beat of techno.

As for the last, in Gerard’s book potential for sex is always there. But Gerard doesn’t really have a conscience anymore. Mikey’s younger, three years, which won’t matter when they’re eighty, and was the only thing that mattered when Gerard graduated and Mikey was just starting. Mikey’s young, and sometimes a drunk, and sometimes a druggie, and sometimes a whore, but he's sometimes innocent enough to still remember it’s wrong.

So it’s not the concept of Mikey-at-the-bar that’s bad. They’re brothers, and among other things part of that means Gerard’s not going to get in the way of Mikey getting what he needs. It’s the follow through of it. The problem with Mikey going to the bar is depending on what Mikey drinks, he’ll get oddly witty, horny, or bitchy. And while the combination of Mikey’s sense of humor and him thinking about sex can be hilarious -those are the texts that Gerard always saves- when he gets bitchy about being horny he can be a little shit.

When Gerard gets the text _for fucksakes you made your choice if you want to get laid stop being a basement dwelling freak_ after asking Mikey if he’s found any hot guys, he knows it’s a bitchy night. The best idea would be to not engage, but maybe Gerard’s a bit drunk too, on rum straight from the bottle, and maybe he’s been listening to Spinal Remains on repeat, and maybe he’s horny too. Whatever it is, Gerard texts back _xcuse me, sir cleric?_ and waits gleefully for Mikey’s response.

The next twenty minutes is fucking fun, in a horrible way. Mikey texts him about all the guys Gerard’s not having sex with, Gerard gets to bring up every nerdy thing he’s ever done before he became a fucking scene boy.

It’s the last straw though, when Mikey calls him and gets some breathy boy to murmur ‘hi’ into the phone. Gerard stands and sprints up the stairs, cramming his feet into his sneakers without bothering with socks. He holds his keys hard enough that by the time he gets to the car there’s an indentation of the jagged edge in his palm. The drive is cautious, being mildly drunk makes him paranoid and rage makes him precise. If he gets pulled over by the cops, Mikey wins, and Gerard won’t let that happen.

The first sign of trouble happens at the door of Evermore. He’s got the five dollar cover, all in ones and change; he always keeps change in his hoodie pockets in case he needs a midnight cigarette run and he can’t find his wallet. What he doesn’t have is his licence.

“Do I look like I’m fucking sixteen?” he shouts at the bouncer.

“I need picture ID, no matter how old you look.” His arms are crossed but he doesn’t look like he’s going to beat him to death, so Gerard considers himself safe. On a weekend night the man would probably be escorting him away, but Tuesdays are slow and apparently Gerard his his amusement. Which is aggravating as hell, but at least it gives him more of an opportunity to plead his case.

“Look at me, man. If I was some scene kid trying to sneak in, don’t you think I’d be wearing some indie band from someone I’ve never heard that cost like eighty fucking dollars on Ebay?” He’s wearing a hoodie with a self-drawn moon and wolf in silver art marker, and he didn’t bother to change out of his skull covered flannel pyjama bottoms before leaving the house. He’s not a fucking scene kid, damn it.

“Come to think of it, it looks like you haven’t washed your hair in two days.” 

Gerard thinks back. He’s got a vague memory of showering a week ago, because he sang Bohemian Rhapsody in the shower and then got it stuck in his head the whole fucking day. He shrugs in response.

“Oh, what the fuck do I care. It’s not like half of them aren’t faking it anyway.” He steps aside and lets Gerard dump the pile of bills and quarters on the table beside the inner door.

Finding Mikey is pretty easy, he’s one of the few daring enough to not have his hair dyed black. Of course, the skintight shirt and the chucks make up for it. Gerard approaches from behind, tries to slide his hand into Mikey’s hair. When the hairspray defeats him he just grabs a clump the best he can and pulls Mikey’s head back. Mikey detaches from the guy he’s pressed against and whirls around. Before he has a chance to say something cutting Gerard moves in. One hand on his hip, hard enough to bruise, the other pulling tight on his hair, Gerard kisses him. All the tipsy offended rage he has channels through his mouth, lips and and tongue and teeth telling Mikey he crossed a line.

Except it’s not enough. When he pulls away, and Mikey just blinks at him from behind his plastic glasses, expression inscrutable, it’s not enough. So Gerard balls his fingers into fists and says “there is a difference between you going for other guys, and you being a total fucking asshole about it. Fucking _stop_ Mikey.”

The music is loud, and he didn’t shout, but he knows Mikey heard him. His face hardly changes, but his posture does, his fucking aura. Gerard considers it a win. He turns and leaves without trying to take Mikey with him. He didn’t do this for possession, Mikey’s his own and if Mikey wants a stranger he can have it. He did this for clarity, and the message is received.


End file.
